


A Man Possessed

by fractualized



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Closet Sex, Dresses, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Not Cheating, Possessive Sex, Relationship Problems, Unprotected Sex, but john and lex got along better than I expected, superman as a macguffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractualized/pseuds/fractualized
Summary: While at a dinner held by Lex Luthor in Metropolis, Bruce realizes that he's underestimated John's dissatisfaction with their relationship when the host gets too friendly.
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, John Doe/Lex Luthor, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 92





	A Man Possessed

**Author's Note:**

> Who needs some John/Bruce relationship drama?! (Me. It's me.)
> 
> This gets into an alternative post-Arkham life for John than what I did in Backstitch. These shenanigans would never happen in Backstitchverse, in which John and Bruce live schmoopily ever after.
> 
> As for Lex's backstory, this is Telltale so it's what I say.

The penthouse suites at exclusive hotels tended to be majestic across the board, a fact which had yet to dissuade John from gliding through every room to gawk at the luxurious decor. Usually Bruce watched, endeared, but at the Halldorf, his gaze had been drawn to the balcony outside the plush sitting room. If he went out and watched for long enough, would he catch sight of a blue-and-red figure flying in the air, zipping between the buildings?

He couldn't be the only outsider who'd come to Metropolis to investigate the mysterious reports. The stories verged on comical. A man who moved faster than could be clearly captured by a camera lens was using extraordinary abilities to catch children falling out of windows, stop vehicles from running down the elderly in crosswalks, and even rescue a cat from a tree. Bruce understood altruistic impulses, of course, but far more often than not, he found that other people with unique resources did not use them for good.

Assuming these stories were about a person.

For a human to move at that speed and nimbly navigate the environment, he'd need assistive technology far beyond what was currently available, likely with a protective suit to avoid injury from windburn alone. Every partial glimpse of the being showed no signs of such technology, and the witnesses said the man wore a skin-tight uniform with a cape. No mention of even a helmet.

So Bruce had started to wonder: assuming this wasn't an elaborate hoax, was there a physiologically superior extraterrestrial in humanity's midst?

And if so, was this alien's helpfulness too good to be true? If his remarkable speed, awesome strength, and gift of flight were used with malice, would Bruce be ready to handle the situation? Bruce needed to investigate, to find potential weaknesses. If the alleged altruist looked just like a man, then perhaps he had a human identity, and that would be the place to start.

Tomorrow, anyway. Tonight, Bruce needed to maintain his own secret identity. He couldn't have Batman go missing in action every time Bruce Wayne was out of Gotham, so Tiffany was choreographing multiple holographic appearances by the Dark Knight in his absence. Here in Metropolis, Bruce would follow through on his cover for the trip.

In the suite's foyer, he checked his tuxedo in the reflection of a large gilded mirror.

"John?" he called while adjusting his bowtie. "Are you almost ready?"

"Almost!" was the faint response.

A few times each year over at the Centennial Hotel, Lex Luthor hosted a blacktie dinner to flaunt his social clout and court potential business partners. Until now, Bruce had long decided to find excuses to decline.

While Bruce routinely rooted out bad actors in Wayne Enterprises, Luthor used corruption at LexCorp's helm to expand his power, navigating legal loopholes to sidestep accountability. He uncritically accepted government contracts for weapons of war. His pharmaceuticals division developed life-changing treatments and jacked up the prices. He'd established a technological monopoly in Metropolis not only for shady data mining, but to create surveillance programs. With his lack of principles, he used his role as an employer and fundraiser to essentially take ownership of the city.

Most of that behavior was no big secret, being technically legal and frustratingly commonplace, and while the ethics standards at Wayne Enterprises had risen over the years, the company still had to compete in existing markets. Therefore, the Board occasionally asked Bruce to reach out to Luthor for business opportunities. They were surprised when he agreed this time, especially given the unremarkable nature of the proposal; collaboration on mobile apps. It would be just as unremarkable when Bruce returned empty-handed.

At least John had tagged along. He made these dinners easier to bear.

Usually.

Bruce returned to the suite's bedroom. In an alcove by the bathroom, John perched on a short stool in front of the vanity as he finished off his lipstick.

His green hair had grown long enough that when he slicked it back, taming even that persistent forelock, it covered the back of his neck. The length of his throat was accentuated by the off-shoulder neckline of his plum-colored gown, which had a modest slit up to his left knee. Strappy white heels criss-crossed over his feet and around his ankles, showing off his mulberry pedicure. His fingernails were the same color, and he carefully used one to open the clasp on a platinum chain necklace.

John in a dress had become a common enough sight in Gotham over the past year. Bruce wasn't sure if it would draw attention in Metropolis, but if anyone had something negative to say, he'd let the idiot know where to stick it.

He would have used his status to support John whether or not Dr. Leland had stressed the importance of her patient branching out into the wider world. She had always been concerned about how much John thrived on Bruce's attention, which was hard to change when Bruce was his only visitor. Bruce enabled that attachment at times, he knew, more frequently after they admitted their feelings for each other. How could he help a reflexive thrill when just a glance lit up John's face? But Leland was right; John had to learn more about being his own person, a point that was only emphasized once he moved into the manor. Tiffany was often present to work in the cave, and Bruce spent his nights in the city, but during the day, he and John had been together around the clock. Despite that drastic increase in time, John seemed to take it as a personal insult when Bruce focused on work.

So Bruce had pushed his partner to follow the plan and explore his interests. Since John enjoyed Arkham's arts activities, one of the manor's rooms was set up with a load of different arts supplies to experiment with. After some trial and error, John took to painting, and after a few months, he produced surprisingly striking pieces. Some were more abstract, combining darkness and neon, too reminiscent of the night that almost tore the two men apart. John usually painted those when he was feeling down. Otherwise, his work was more impressionistic, capturing views that Bruce recognized from Arkham or the manor, or imagining dramatic versions of Batman.

When John had started posting his work online, the tabloids started a kerfuffle about whether it was inappropriate or even dangerous for him to have a public presence, which provoked the local art community into its own backlash against moral panic. John maintained a false bravado as his follower count swelled, happy to be seen but still unsure about his worth, but that posturing turned to real confidence when the calls came in. Magazines requested interviews, and galleries offered representation.

John had gone ahead and done the interviews on his own, and several weeks later, after Bruce's lawyers refined the contract with the gallery, he had his first show. Even the begrudging press deemed the exhibition a success; the pieces drew a large crowd and several were sold to attendees or brokers. Bruce felt gratified just seeing the pride on John's face. He'd found a direction.

More than one, it had turned out. They held a reckless afterparty at the penthouse, and it was there that John was approached by a photographer for Gotham Textstyles. Because of his unique appearance, she wanted him to model for the magazine's next spread. John did not jump at the idea– seeming to think the photog was setting up a cruel joke– but she pressed on, showing him her previous work on her phone. By the end of the conversation, John gave his enthusiastic agreement.

Bruce couldn't really picture someone so effervescent as a moody mannequin, but John had a knack for surprises. When the shoot had been published, some shots of John were unusually demure, but others showed his typical cheer.

And then there were the flirtatious shots. John winking, his face half in shadow under a floppy sun hat. John blowing a kiss in a jumper cut high on the thighs. John putting on mascara, face relaxed, with a half-open patchwork robe slipped off one shoulder.

To see John act that way for faceless viewers… Bruce knew aggravation was an immature reaction. The whole point of these ventures was for John to gain confidence and experience the world. Bruce couldn't get jealous when the world saw him.

The uproar from the fashion spread had only resulted in more modeling invitations, which John had deferred for about a month now. As much as he enjoyed all the attention, he said he needed a break– but then he reverted to wanting more of Bruce's attention.

Bruce understood John felt overwhelmed, but he didn't want him to backslide into dependence, plus the break coincided with the strange events in Metropolis. Bruce had to figure out the truth; if there was an actual alien, the enormity of that fact would be world-changing.

Not that John saw it that way. "Just because Metropolis might be having close encounters, it doesn't mean we shouldn't be!"

John's release had been almost a year ago. Just because their sex life inevitably cooled, it hardly meant that Bruce was pushing John away. He needed to pursue his mission, and he and John were still together most of the time, after all.

John was still fiddling with the necklace, and Bruce stepped closer. "Let me help with that," he offered.

"I got it," John said, putting the chain around his neck.

Bruce picked the matching bracelet off the vanity. "This is always a pain."

John didn't say anything and presented his wrist, underside up. Bruce fastened the bracelet and had the idea to press a kiss there, where blue veins crossed over tendons, but John pulled away and turned back to the mirror. As he put in dangling diamond earrings, his dress straps shifted down his arms, and Bruce felt something stir at the sight of his bare shoulders. He saw a similar longing in the reflection of John's eyes.

Bruce stepped back and held out his hands. "Hey."

John looked up, uncertain, but he got to his feet and joined their hands. He looked beautiful like always– mouth painted as dark as his nails, eyeshadow a cool lavender, long lashes a deep green– but Bruce wanted to see his grin.

"I know I've been distracted," Bruce said, "but there could be something big here."

John huffed. "I get it," he mumbled.

Bruce stroked his thumb over John's cheek. "You're great for putting up with me."

John scrunched his nose.

"What?"

"That's what politicians say to their kept housewives."

Bruce wrinkled his own nose. "Don't say that. Look, whatever you've been wanting to do"– he leaned in, putting on a sultry edge– "or whatever you've been wanting me to do to you, you'll get it."

"Oh?" John replied doubtfully.

"Absolutely. I'm going to get a lot of questions answered on this trip, and then I can join you on your break."

"Alright."

"I promise," Bruce said, straightening. "You look amazing."

John finally pulled up a small smile. "Thanks."

* * *

What a crock!

Not that Bruce knew that he was lying to John's face. Bruce was the king of good intentions; he figured that it would be simple to make more time for John, especially for sex. After all, when John first moved in and they finally had all the unsupervised time in the world, they'd gone at it like rabbits, overwhelming even John sometimes (not that he'd complained).

But the honeymoon period was over, and John knew Bruce better now. Some cases would worm into Bruce's brain and wriggle around, and he'd be endlessly distracted pulling out all the clues. This potential space alien was no different. When they got back to Gotham, Bruce would not take a break. He'd have new data to analyze or a hunch to pursue, and he'd think the weekly routine that he and John had somehow fallen into was what he'd promised.

John could not get by on that! He'd tried all kinds of tips and tricks for reigniting the flames, but Bruce was impervious. John had shown up in the cave wearing nothing but one of Bruce's t-shirts, which barely covered his butt, and the detective had glanced up from a coroner's report and _asked if John was cold._ John would have laughed if he wasn't so freaking horny.

Showing up naked was the next logical step, but it would get the same agitated response as all the other efforts. Bruce said he needed John to understand his work, to respect his boundaries. He said John should keep focusing on his art, on his independence like Doc Leland said. Well, John was very sure that didn't mean going solo in his sex life. It was great that Bruce was so supportive, but John missed that romantic _spark_. 

And Bruce's dick. Not everything had to be a metaphor.

Sex wasn't the only problem. Here they were at this hoity-toity soirée, surrounded by people eating crackers topped with fancy cheeses while murmuring about societal ills under the sound of violins. Meanwhile, Bruce and John were supposed to pick out strangers and concoct ridiculous backstories for them.

Instead, Bruce stared at his phone, examining shots from the alien videos. He'd downloaded some update from the cave. Unbelievable. He was so obsessed that he wasn't even committing to his cover. 

A couple entered the room arm-in-arm. It was a locked but loose link, maintaining a distance between them, and while they scanned the other guests, they never looked at each other. Both were as tall as Bruce but lanky. The woman's brown hair was twisted into a bun just above her neck, and she wore a shimmering sheath dress the color of sandstone. The man had slicked back his blond hair and worn a skinny sage suit.

John chuckled and elbowed Bruce. "So these two, the lady raises mongooses, and he does snakes, right? But his inventory has–"

"Hm? What?" Bruce glanced at him and frowned. "In a minute."

John pouted and snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray. Ever since they left the Halldorf, Bruce had barely given John another look. Part of the fun of getting all dolled up was– _used to be_ Bruce's adoring gaze and sneaking off to fool around. One time they never made it out of the limo. 

As he morosely sipped his drink, John noted a bubble in the room's atmosphere: the crowd parting as a tall bald man made his way around the room, shaking hand after hand. John watched, listening to the depth of his practiced chuckle, and decided Lex Luthor wasn't an overblown grifter like some of Bruce's other business colleagues. Luthor moved with a confidence that seemed earned, like he could step on your foot and be owed an apology. His dark brows had a knowing arch, and his sharp cheekbones brought an edge to his slick, full-lipped smile. His tux was cut as well as Bruce's, but he'd inverted the colors for the top half, with a white jacket and bowtie and a black shirt.

John had clocked several tuxedoed gentlemen as security guards on the basis of their earpieces, but the woman lingering in Luthor's orbit was less obvious. She'd dressed up her fitted gray-blue suit with a drapey low-cut blouse and oxford heels, and she'd pulled her sleek brown hair away from her face into a neat French braid. Her dark eyes slowly scanned the crowd, and she didn't look at Bruce Wayne's porcelain beau twice. She was familiar with the guest list.

Plus, unlike everyone else exchanging scandalized glances, she did not care a whit that, for the second time, Luthor lifted a woman's hand to his lips to the silent consternation of her partner. John snickered.

"Unbelievable," Bruce muttered. He'd finally slipped his phone inside his jacket. "Playing it genteel, as if that means it's appropriate. And look at her husband, just letting him do it."

"Just imagine," John said, lifting his drink to his mouth and looking Bruce right in the eye, "doing whatever you want because you're rich." He took a sip.

"Very funny," Bruce replied dully. He pasted on a smile as Luthor finally approached their corner.

"Ah, Bruce!" Luthor said, firmly shaking his competitor's hand. "It's been too long. Glad you could make the trip."

"Of course, Lex." Bruce gestured to John, who extended his own hand. "This is–"

"The infamous John Doe!" Luthor exclaimed. His hand wrapped lightly around John's to lift it for a feathery kiss. "No introduction needed. I've read so much about you."

John blinked dumbly. This was not how the upper crust usually interacted with him at these shindigs. And Luthor kept holding his hand. "Oh, I– well, what they write–"

Luthor shook his head, still with that attentive smile. "Don't misunderstand. I pay little mind to the sensationalism. Your turn to art is what interests me. I think you have wonderful potential. I mean, that photo shoot! Stunning, truly."

Giggles streamed out of John's mouth, and he half-hid his face with the champagne flute. "Well, thank you, Mr. Luthor. There were, uh, mixed reviews."

"Call me Lex. I'm thrilled to have you here. It's truly admirable that you've come out the other side of that Agency travesty and are publicly pursuing your interests. That takes more tenacity than most people dare to have."

"Oh, I…" John hardly knew what to do other than giggle. "Ha, wow."

Lex's mouth pulled into a knowing smirk as he brought up his other hand to fully enclose John's.

Bruce suddenly hooked John's elbow, pulling his arm down. "Very kind of you to say, Lex," he said tightly.

"Oh, let's not call it kindness," Lex replied unfazed. "It's the truth."

"Yes, all his hard work is paying off." 

Bruce stood close to John and interlaced their fingers, trying to show pride, but it was Lex's grin that made John's chest swell. Gosh, he really was handsome.

The brunette in the blue suit came forward and murmured something in Lex's ear. He nodded and turned back to John and Bruce.

"Excuse me, but dinner is almost ready and I still have people to greet. Hopefully–" He cut himself off, eyes lighting up, and turned back to the woman. "Mercy, did you say the Connors were at my table?"

Mercy nodded. "Mr. Connor wants to discuss the communications project."

Lex waved a hand. "Oh, I'm sick of that," he said. "Have the hostess switch in John and Mr. Wayne. Now there's some interesting conversation." He winked at John before walking off.

John watched him go, admiring the broadness of his shoulders. "That man can own a room," he said to no one in particular before finishing his drink.

Bruce unjoined their hands to loop his arm around John's waist. "He's disrespectful," he grumbled.

John glanced down, and the spread of Bruce's fingers over his abdomen brought a smirk to his face.

He sighed loudly and pulled free. "Yet _nobody_ does anything about it," he said, walking after a drink tray. 

He couldn't resist glancing back to see Bruce's frown.

* * *

Of course Luthor's social repertoire included bullshit power games. Why wouldn't an alpha stereotype signal to everyone in the room that he could lure away their significant others? Doing it to Bruce in particular, and including an invite to the head table, gave away another game. Luthor was trying to throw Bruce off. Bruce would bring up the mobile apps proposal, and Luthor would change the subject to a field Bruce wanted nothing to do with. The combined resources of Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp could wield a level of influence that no doubt made Luthor salivate.

Bruce would stand his ground. As for the flirting, he hardly felt threatened, contrary to John's implication. Yes, he'd been quick to judge the others who'd allowed such shameless behavior, but what would making a scene accomplish? Luthor would just see it as a demonstration of his power.

And John… John had been freely enjoying the attention, sure, but of course he wouldn't turn away from praise. Maybe he and Bruce were in a bit of a slump, but it wouldn't help to read too much into the whole interaction. They'd talk later about how indulging Lex went a little too far.

John returned with another glass, and they endured ten minutes of small talk with a team of lifestyle coaches before the hostess announced the end of cocktail hour. The waitstaff opened the dining room doors, and Bruce and John filtered in with the other guests. Dozens of round tables draped in white linen spread across the enormous room, with empty space on the right for dancing, not far from the bar. Tall windows lined the back wall, broken up by a set of doors that let out into a garden with a view of the bay.

The head table was set up in the rear corner, marked by pedestals holding tasteful flower arrangements. As Bruce led John over, he mentally prepared himself for dealing with Luthor.

The other billionaire was already at the table, waiting with that smarmy smile. He pulled out the chair to his right, which seemed much too polite.

Before Bruce could awkwardly thank him, Luthor said, "John, here you are."

"Oh!" John replied, letting go of Bruce's arm without hesitation. He took the seat, flashing a big grin up at Luthor. "Much obliged."

Luthor pushed the chair in as John used both hands to smooth his skirt comfortably under his legs. Bruce numbly watched, until Luthor gestured to the seat beside John.

"And you here, of course, Bruce."

Of course. Bruce pulled up a smile under the weight of his thoughts and sat. What the hell was Luthor up to? Flirting was one thing, but seating John next to him…

It was just more of the game, and perhaps a polite gesture toward an artist he liked. It was ridiculous to think that Luthor would squander the opportunity to build a relationship with someone in Bruce's position. He couldn't be that irritated that Bruce snubbed his other parties, and he couldn't be trying to...

Nearby, Mercy caught Bruce's eye. A member of security was speaking to her, but she looked at Bruce with an amused smile.

"Good evening, everyone!"

Luthor was still on his feet, and he raised his champagne glass high. The room hushed as everyone lifted their drinks.

"I'm grateful to see that so many of you chose to spend your evening here with me– and the free booze." He paused for the laughter, then continued. "My company keeps my schedule packed, but it's important to squeeze in these social hours. When life gets hectic, it only becomes more important to connect with your fellows."

"Indeed," John muttered.

Luthor lowered his drink so it was level with John's, saying, "So here's to old friends and new ones."

John brightened and clinked their glasses together. "Absolutely!"

Tings sounded around the room. Bruce toasted with the woman on his right, but when he turned back, John was already drinking.

Luthor drank too, then said, "Enjoy your meal!" before sitting down.

"That must be good champagne," Bruce said to John.

"It's tasty!" John replied, oblivious to Bruce's irritation. He added quietly, "I think you could treat yourself a little."

The earnestness threw Bruce off. Maybe John did just see all this as harmless.

Luthor jumped in. "Well, it is the finest available. Have you toured one of the champagne houses in France?"

"Nope," John said. "This is my first time out of the state!"

"Really?" Luthor shot Bruce a chiding look. "You've never taken a trip overseas? That is a sin."

"Oh, he'd love to take me lots of places," John said, bumping shoulders with Bruce, "but I'm not allowed to leave the country yet."

"I see."

 _Yeah,_ Bruce thought, _so fuck off._ He had the same sentiment for everyone at the table staring at John like he'd tracked in mud. He'd whisk John off to wherever he wanted next year, once that restriction expired.

"I would think, though…" Luthor spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "It's not like it's impossible to secret someone away on a private trip. I'm surprised, Bruce, considering your history."

Bruce forced yet another smile and explained, "It's one thing to take risks for myself. It's important that John is one-hundred-percent settled with the law, so no one can second-guess his release." He covered John's hand on the table and squeezed.

Luthor nodded as if he understood, then leaned into John. "Of course, skirting the law is part of the fun."

John chuckled. He didn't return Bruce's grip. Bruce wondered how he could accidentally throw the finest champagne into Luthor's face.

Throughout the meal, Luthor monopolized the conversation and did not stray into business once. He pulled John into every subject, while Bruce found himself reduced to nods or single words. Luthor praised the food, then practically quizzed John on which first-class restaurants Bruce had taken him to. (Plenty, not that Luthor seemed to award any points for it.) He noted that the violinists had all been members of the Metropolis Symphony Orchestra, which, he added _offhandedly_ , was preferable over the Gotham Philharmonic. He frowned when John said he preferred showtunes, but Bruce's smugness was short-lived. John added that he'd only been able to drag Bruce to one musical, and Luthor offered the complimentary tickets that often fell into his lap. The seats should go to someone who really appreciated the art, he said– though he would gladly accompany John if Bruce wasn't inclined. And speaking of the arts, Luthor insisted that the couple visit the new museum at the Metropolis Industrial Fashion Institute.

"If you can make the time," Luthor politely jabbed.

"Of course we can," Bruce said, imagining the bones of that cheek crunching under his fist.

While the servers cleared the dinner plates in anticipation of dessert, Luthor segued from the museum back to the Gotham Textstyles shoot.

"I highly recommend everyone take a look," he said.

"Oh, gosh," John tittered, pressing his hands to his cheeks. "I'm flattered, Lexy!"

 _Lexy?_ Bruce's eyes bored into John's temple.

John didn't seem to feel it. "But honestly, I find it hard to believe you routinely peruse indie fashion."

Luthor shrugged. "The Metropolis papers love a scandal in our sister city. The Planet had a fiery op-ed about the loss of morals, standards, all that nonsense, and I had to see what was so atrocious about some fashion photography. And the answer was nothing, nothing at all."

Across the table, an older man who'd been fidgety all evening pulled back his shoulders. "I have seen it," he said, "and I have to say one picture was rather tasteless given the… the circumstances."

"Whatever do you mean?" John asked with deceptive innocence.

Bruce knew exactly which photo: on a flat carpet, John laid on his side, propped up on his left elbow with his slightly bent legs extending off frame. He was in the middle of a game of solitaire, putting down the jack of diamonds. That outfit was well-tailored: tan slacks with bird's egg blue suspenders pulled over a windowpane plaid shirt, with widely spaced orange and yellow stripes crossing over white. What drew people's ire was in the corner of the picture: the deck's two joker cards lying in plain sight.

The jokers felt like an intentional prod at those who wanted John to disappear, and Bruce had told him so. John had asked if Bruce thought the past should be erased, and of course that wasn't the point, but it turned into one of those arguments that spun around John's twists of logic until Bruce gave up.

Tonight, their fellow guest pursued the subject. "Those cards were a glib reference to your– your crimes," he said bitingly. "Just callously making light of lost lives."

John was unbothered. This was not the first time someone had confronted him about his past. "Sir," he began, hand to his chest, "I'm sure you've played solitaire before and know that jokers aren't needed; thus, they are discarded, just as I have left that identity behind, along with the unhealthy mindset that brought me to that point."

"If you truly wish to leave everything behind, you could have omitted those cards entirely."

John shrugged. "Art is always left to interpretation, I suppose."

"Yes," Lex agreed, "particularly true for people who want to be upset." He fixed his amused gaze on the agitated man. "No one made light of those poor souls until someone decided they wanted to bolster their righteousness at a dinner party." A laugh burst from his lips. "It's particularly telling that of all the potential targets in this room, you locked your sights on Mr. Doe."

The man's face turned red, and he fumbled to form a response. Any empathy Bruce felt for him was overwhelmed by irritation, because it _was_ telling that this guy started in on John when Lex Luthor was right there.

Luthor dismissed whatever the man wanted to say with a wave of his hand, and his eyes brightened as the waitstaff approached. "Ah, the final course." He patted John's arm. "Perfect to cleanse the palate."

The touch dropped ice into Bruce's stomach. John was capable of handling himself, so Bruce always let him, but this was different. Here, it felt like an error, Bruce doing nothing while Luthor came to John's defense.

The servers swiftly laid the desserts around the table. John had chosen the lemon and plum sorbet, while Bruce went for the fig and mascarpone tart. John dug right in with a happy shimmy.

"It's that good?" Bruce asked, in a weak effort to reassert himself.

"Like everything else, it's made on the premises," Luthor said.

"It's delicious!" John put the spoon back in his mouth, curving it over his bottom lip as he made a show of sucking off every last bit of flavor. He looked at Luthor's dish. "How's that?"

"Fantastic," Luthor declared. "The Centennial's chef makes the best crème brûlée in the country."

"I've never had it."

"I'd think not, if this is your first visit."

"I mean ever."

"Really?" Luthor scooped up some custard and held out his spoon. "Try some of mine."

John didn't take the spoon. He planted his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands, waiting with his mouth open. The frozen feeling spread through Bruce's gut, in contrast to the heat rising in his face, and his fist closed around his fork.

After all the blatant flirting, Lex actually looked surprised. Then he settled back into that smug smile and fed John the custard.

John sealed his purple lips around the spoon as he pulled off, leaving not so much as a streak of crème brûlée behind. He rolled the flavors around his mouth with a low groan before swallowing, then swept his tongue around one last time, pink tip briefly poking free.

"Mm hm," John purred. "Wonderful. Thanks for the taste, Lexy."

The entire goddamn table was watching them– was watching Bruce, as he impotently sat there, like he wouldn't love to get up and knock Luthor out of his chair. Hell, that was probably just what John wanted– and Luthor, too. The press would have a field day speculating about Bruce's stability all over again. 

But the alternative was just letting this humiliation happen. How could Bruce go up against the most violent of criminals, yet think of no good options for dealing with an amoral narcissist?

Luthor looked across the room. "Ah, you strike me as one who enjoys dancing, John."

The violinists had been playing throughout dinner. Now that some couples had finished eating, they'd moved to the dance floor, swaying in each other's arms.

"He loves it," Bruce said as he got up, tasting the acid in his voice. He dropped his bent fork, letting it clang on the edge of his plate, and reached for John. "Shall we?"

John blinked up at him, and Bruce's breath caught in his throat. John wouldn't...

He didn't. "Sure!" he said with a smile, taking Bruce's hand.

Bruce exhaled and led him away, quickly weaving through the tables.

* * *

John let Bruce guide him into the middle of the growing number of dancing couples. As they faced each other, Bruce had a cross expression, and John couldn't suppress his grin.

"You didn't touch your tart!" John commented, placing his hands on Bruce's shoulders.

Bruce held John's waist. "I get the point," he said quietly. "You can knock it off."

Dinner had been more fun than John expected. He'd thought Lex would keep flirting just a little, to keep Bruce on his toes. Instead, it felt like if someone had started choking while John talked, Lex would've scolded them for interrupting.

"I'm not sure what you mean," John said lightly. They started rocking gently to the music.

"You made a fool of me and you know it. I hate it when you get in these spiteful moods."

"Don't give me a reason to spite you then." John stuck out his tongue. "Sometimes a fella misses attention."

"Who the hell else do I pay attention to but you?"

"You don't, not like you used to."

"Things… fluctuate. You can't just act out when a relationship isn't just how you like it. You need to–"

"Talk to you, and I do, and I get lectured like this."

"I'm not lecturing. I'm… I'm just explaining. This is still new territory."

"For the both of us," John said pointedly.

Ooh, Bruce didn't like that thrown at him. His face pinched.

A deep laugh cut through the music. Lex had brought Mercy to the edge of the dance floor and sent her into a spin. She shook her head, but she was smiling and let him pull her back in.

"Why do you even want to play into that asshole's game?" Bruce asked.

John's gaze came back to him. "Huh?"

"You saw at cocktail hour. He undermines others as a power trip."

"Uh, you don't see anyone else from cocktail hour at our table."

"John." Bruce had that pitying look on his face, the one for when he thought John was being naive. "He'd love to undercut me most of all. Billionaire versus billionaire."

John bristled. "Silly me. How could he ever find me appealing?"

"Of course you're appealing," Bruce quickly replied, "but someone like Lex wouldn't… He's…"

"Maybe you think he'd have to lower his standards," John said tightly, "but I think he's not big on any kind of boundaries. I think he just sees something he likes and goes for it." He made eyes at Lex over Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce noticed. " _That's_ what he likes," he hissed, "you getting all gooey over him right in front of me."

"Because it's impossible for someone else to find me attractive," John spat.

"That– that's not what I'm saying at all."

"That's exactly what you're saying."

"Luthor is just playing a game."

"Oh, so I'm stupid."

"I didn't say–"

"You know, I've come a long way from following at the heels of someone who treats me like dirt." John tore himself out of Bruce's arms. "Far enough to know that I don't have to settle for someone who takes me for granted, either."

"What?" Bruce said, stupefied but keeping his voice low, eyes darting around. Oh, it would be _dreadful_ if John made a spectacle of himself, wouldn't it?

Another voice broke in. "Ah…"

Lex and Mercy had come up beside them, Lex's hand lingering on Mercy's back, and her hand still on his shoulder.

"I was going to ask to cut in," Lex continued with a raised eyebrow, "but–"

John grabbed his free hand. "Perfect timing!"

Lex's hesitation vanished. "Excellent," he said. "Mercy, don't leave Bruce lonely."

And just like that, he whirled John away, elsewhere in the crowd. Despite still being closed in, John felt like he could breathe again.

"What was that about?" Lex asked oh-so-innocently.

No way this was the first time this guy had wriggled his way between a couple– but then there had to be room to wriggle, didn't there?

Room enough to keep having a little fun. Maybe a lot of fun.

John held onto Lex's shoulders and leaned in close, almost touching their noses. "Nothing I want to cloud your sunshine, Lexy."

"I could never be brighter than the gentleman I have the pleasure of dancing with."

John pulled back and beamed. "How do you keep up the flattery?"

"How do you make it so easy?" Lex countered.

They shared a laugh, and John felt so fluttery.

"Would you like to hear a confession?" Lex asked.

"Always!"

"I was aware of your rising star before the fashion shoot."

"Oh?"

"My art broker showed me your paintings online. I had her purchase one from the showing."

"Really?" John said, flipping through his mental catalog. "Which one?"

"I believe the title is, 'I Dreamt I Was a Butterfly.'"

"Ha, you really do like the controversial, don't you?"

John often worked out his dreams through painting, and he often dreamed of his arm locked around Bane's throat while his butterfly knife stabbed into the hulk's shoulder again and again and again. It was the moment he'd felt most righteous in his vigilante stint, attacking a murderer and defending his own honor, with Batman still at his side. The knife had felt like a mighty sword, and in the painting, he'd tried to capture the gleam of the blade and the emerald handle, under a dreamy sheen.

Because he hadn't been righteous, and he would wake up all too soon.

Lex smirked. "I suppose it's controversial to those who'd rather not understand." He tipped his head forward, just slightly. "And it's so exhausting having to explain again and again."

The knife painting was one of many that made Bruce uneasy, even after John explained.

"I find the pearl-clutching disingenuous," Lex continued. "Don't believe for a moment that those who criticize you have never imagined violent retribution. Of course, the violence is a temporary satisfaction, which is the point of the work."

John bounced on his toes. "Exactly!"

"That painting also highlights that tenacity, I think, your will to do what others reflexively declare to be… let's say 'illicit,' in some way. And with some healthy redirection, you've become quite the underground darling in, what, a year?"

"Bruce helped a lot."

"Of course. It's a darling love story– when that's the angle the media is taking for the day."

John tipped his head back when he laughed. "It's so predictable! Like Bruce's last fundraiser for the Humane Society, he wanted me to post about it, right? So I put up a pic of him with the local director and said that she could use the money for a better haircut. Bruce was upset, but all the speculation that I must be mad because of an affair pulled in more attention, and the online donations spiked by thirty percent!"

Lex chuckled. "People say your rise was unlikely, but with that kind of resourcefulness, I say it was inevitable."

"Is this the part where you say, 'we're not so different, you and I?'" John said, trying to mimic Luthor's deep tones. "I've done a little reading on you, too. Dirt-poor wunderkind puts his nose to the grindstone, scritches and scratches up engineering scholarships, and graduates college early with investor-dazzling prototypes. He builds a sprawling corporation that his home city soon depends on to function."

Lex's grin was proud and polished. "It pays to make yourself a critical component of civilized life. Bruce benefits from Wayne Enterprises in much the same way." He tilted his head. "Though I suppose he can't relate to the 'scritching and scratching.'"

John shrugged. "He's more empathetic than he gets credit for."

Lex hummed and lifted his arm, prompting John to gleefully spin underneath, skirt swirling. Lex scanned John's dress before pulling him back in.

"Bruce clearly takes fine care of you," he said.

"Very good care."

"Still, while he can cover your monetary needs, I'd like to be a patron. I have access to several venues if you'd like to showcase your work outside of Gotham, and I'd be delighted to talk you up to my connections."

"Oh, gosh," John said coyly, "that would be fantastic, though I'm taking a break from all the excitement."

"Well, whenever you need, I'm at your service." Lex glanced over John's shoulder, undoubtedly in Bruce's direction. "I could use a break from this crowd. Would you join me?"

"Of course."

Lex linked their arms and led John toward the rear doors. "The garden here is lovely, very quiet and private."

* * *

Bruce did not dance with Mercy, and as he stalked to the bar, he did not give into the urge to turn right back around and get John the hell away from that audacious prick. Pushing John when he was in a cutting mood only ever made things worse, and lurking nearby to watch him flirt with Luthor would be maddening. Just thinking about it was maddening.

Hunched over the counter, Bruce ordered a straight whiskey.

"One for me as well."

Mercy leaned on the counter beside him, her posture much more relaxed. Bruce tried to ignore her. When the bartender set down their glasses, he grabbed his and took a searing gulp. Mercy took hers and turned, leaning back with her elbows on the counter.

"Am I being babysat?" Bruce asked.

"I just wanted a drink." She impassively watched the dancing guests. "Though you do have reason to cause my employer harm."

Bruce snorted lightly. More reasons than she knew. "John's just trying to get a rise out of me. I'm not concerned."

"I'm not convinced," she said before sipping her whiskey.

No, John could go too far, but he wouldn't be outright disloyal, not after everything he and Bruce had gone through. Bruce may have underestimated the stagnation in their relationship, but that could be fixed– as soon as John staved off the impulse to indulge a sweet-talking swindler.

Why wouldn't Luthor be attracted to John? Now that John had put more of himself out in the world, more people could see that there was more to him than the deadly fight against the Agency. They saw John's offbeat but appealing humor, his persistence, his aggressive optimism. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but he never showed that kind of insecurity. His too-wide mouth could form an earnest smile or wicked grin. His unnaturally pale skin drew the eye to the subtle pinks in his lips and the tips of his ears. His rich green hair matched the brightness of his eyes, and he committed to being a colorful presence with garish outfits and makeup. He carried himself with such confidence now, a true peacock.

In Luthor's sights.

Bruce downed the rest of his drink. "I've met a lot of assistants who are all-around right hands," he said. Per a couple of glowing magazine profiles, Mercy rarely left Luthor's side. "But you're the first to be a wingman."

Her face broke into an almost delighted grin. "Mr. Luthor does not need help in his romantic escapades, I assure you."

"You could advise him to romance people who _aren't_ spoken for."

Her amusement faded and she shook her head. "Every time," she muttered.

"What?" Bruce snapped.

She locked eyes with him. "I didn't realize your relationship was anyone else's responsibility."

His hackles rose, yet he couldn't match her withering expression and had to look away, staring into his empty glass. The resentment he found there was thick and roiling– all the more because she was right. Luthor was a bastard, but why was Bruce letting this go on? Why was he acting like everything was fine and he and John needed to see this party through? They needed to get back to their hotel and talk.

Bruce pushed away from the bar. "Excuse me."

He searched for John's brightness in the muted crowd, but he couldn't find that grassy hair (or Luthor's gleaming scalp) among the dancers or over at the corner table or anywhere else. His gaze landed on the open garden doors, and his throat, still burning from the whiskey, dried up. No one was coming in or out, seeming to take a cue from the two security guards lingering nearby. The guards watched Bruce approach but didn't prevent him from stalking into the cool night.

The garden was lit on one side by the warm glow of the dining room and on the other by lamp posts rising from the balustrade overlooking the bay. A flagstone path split into multiple branches that twisted through trimmed hedges and flower plots, arranged around a pond at the center that was bordered by stacked pavers. The pavers rose higher at the back, hiding the mechanism for a small waterfall that quietly flowed back into the pond. Bruce caught the orange shine of koi in the black water as he approached, before John's bubbling laugh grabbed his attention.

A path to the right wound between tall swirling topiaries, leading to a low concrete bench nestled in a nook of blue and purple hydrangea bushes. John and Luthor sat there, angled toward each other. John's right leg crossed over his left and broke through the slit in his skirt, his calf catching a slash of light cutting through the shrubbery.

Luthor leaned in with that insufferable grin and closed his hand over John's bare knee. John bit his bottom lip, muffling another laugh.

"John," Bruce said sharply.

The pair looked up, John still mischievous and Luthor cool and unperturbed.

"Ah, Bruce," Luthor said, patting John's knee as he got to his feet. "We were just discussing John's future."

"Were you?" Bruce said through his teeth.

Luthor strolled over with his hands in his pockets, stopping just a couple feet away. "Yes, he has so many options, wouldn't you say?"

"We have to go."

"Oh?"

"What for?" John asked. He flattened his hands on the bench and leaned back.

"Just come on," Bruce barked.

Luthor clucked his tongue. "Come now, if John wants to stay a while longer, I'm more than happy to secure him a ride back."

"Why would we need you to?"

"As a kind gesture."

"We're fine."

Luthor shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's up to him, isn't it? I'll be sure he gets back safe and sound"– he smirked– "whether tonight or in the morning."

A stillness filled Bruce's head. He could no longer hear the fountain or the noise inside the hotel. The light creeped in from the edges of his vision, turning John into a spot of purple in his periphery and centering on Luthor's arrogant face.

Which lit up with shock when Bruce grabbed him by the jacket and heaved him into the pond.

It was a spectacular fall. Luthor's heels scraped the ground through the swing, and when Bruce let go, Luthor tumbled backwards over the pavers, arms uselessly pinwheeling through the air. The koi scattered when he flopped into the water, making a great splash that hit Bruce's shoes, and for a moment just his kicking legs were visible. He sat up abruptly, coughing and sputtering, water sliding down his bald head to drip from his ears and nose.

"Bah ha!"

The stillness evaporated. John had come up next to Bruce, and he was bent over laughing, slapping his thighs.

Two figures came running from the light of the party, Mercy and a guard. The guard climbed into the pond to help Luthor up, and Mercy waited at the edge, asking Luthor if he was alright.

Bruce grabbed John by the arm and dragged him away, back to the doors and through the dining room, past more security running to check on their boss. The other guests crowded the windows to look at the commotion. Bruce had been heading for the car, but John was still laughing, stumbling in his heels, and it stoked the anger in Bruce's chest. They needed to talk _now_. 

They reentered the cocktail room. The tall, skinny tables stood alone now, except for a pair of servers cleaning up. Bruce spotted a door in the corner marked _STAFF_ and veered in that direction.

"Hey, uh," John said, still wheezing, "where are we going?"

Bruce pushed through the door into a dim hallway. Another door to the left was marked _SUPPLIES_ , and he yanked John in. They found themselves in a small room lined with metal shelving units, holding various supplies from rows of detergents to stacks of tablecloths. Bruce shut the door, let go of John, and whirled on him.

"Why the hell were you out there with him?" he demanded.

John rubbed his arm and held his head high, still looking pleased with himself. "Having an engaging conversation until you showed up– not that you made it boring."

Bruce almost laughed. "Yeah, you looked 'engaged.'"

John's face dropped into confusion. "Huh?"

"Did you let him touch you under the dinner table, too?"

"What?! What kind of a clown do you take me for?"

"Oh, right, after the scene you made about _Lexy_ , how could I possibly assail your integrity?"

"The scene _I_ made? What do you call that surprise baptism?"

"He touched you."

"And I'm the one with impulse problems? He touched my leg, whoop de doo."

"If I'd come out two minutes later, he probably would have been fucking you."

It sounded out of line even to Bruce's burning ears, but John's response was no better.

"At least someone would be!" he spat.

Bruce sputtered. "What– You– you wouldn't actually–"

"Oh, all the sudden you think I wouldn't?" John guffawed. "You know what? Why not? If I have needs that need filling, why do I have to wait around for you to get your blood pumping again? News flash, buddy: I didn't stay a lovesick puppy dog. If I can find a _bone_ elsewhere, I'm free to go after it."

"He's a shameless, reprehensible–"

"Maybe that's my type! You're the only person I've tangoed with in this big wide world. How can I know if there's a better dance partner for me unless I get out there? Why not give Lexy an audition?"

Blood rushed through Bruce's ears– through his eyes, though he didn't see red. He saw purple, that fucking dress and the white slash of John's leg.

He snatched John by the waist and pulled him close, gathering up the back of his skirt. His groping quickly found the line of John's bikini underwear, and he pushed his hand underneath the silk to prod roughly at John's cleft.

John barely got out a gasp before Bruce kissed him, licking deep. John opened up immediately, twisting his hands into Bruce's lapels and grinding against his thigh. 

"Finally," John moaned.

Bruce pulled his mouth away. "Is this what you want?" he growled, as if his own ignored need hadn't hit him like a train.

"No," John shot back, licking up Bruce's throat to his ear. "I want you to _fuck me_."

Bruce stopped teasing John's ass to grab the hem of his underwear, crouching to slide the lavender fabric all the way down those pale legs. As he straightened, he scanned the shelves and spotted a jar of petroleum jelly next to a first aid kit. He forced John back a few steps and reached over his shoulder to grab the jar. He needed both hands to twist it open, which only set off John's impatience. Still pulling at Bruce's jacket, he rubbed his thigh into Bruce's crotch.

"Just do it," John whined.

"Quiet," Bruce ordered as he scooped two fingers through the jelly.

The jar banged back on the shelf, lid askew, and he pulled John's skirt back up. He felt almost manic as he pushed greased digits between John's cheeks and shoved both inside up to the first knuckle. A warning thought broke through, that he was going too fast, but John yanked him by the hair into another kiss. Bruce methodically worked his fingers but kept it rough, not wanting to hurt John but wanting him to _feel_ it, _remember_ it. John's groans soon broke the seal of their mouths, and his smudged lipstick made Bruce's cock throb.

"You don't get this from anyone else," Bruce said lowly, pressing deeper. 

"Only if you give it to me first," John gasped.

"Don't test me."

"Or what?"

There was that wicked grin, as John's hands moved between them. In seconds, he had Bruce's jacket and pants open, and he pulled Bruce's straining cock free.

"Ooh, he's angry, too," John taunted, firmly squeezing the shaft.

Bruce snarled, rucking the skirt up more and pulling out his fingers to grasp John's thighs. He lifted the smaller man and crashed him against the shelves, and even as John cried out, he wrapped his legs around Bruce's waist. At once, John grabbed a metal post and dragged aside the fabric that had pooled into his lap, until the two men's cocks stood aligned between Bruce's shirt and the bunched material over John's stomach. John jerked his hips to rub them together, using the post for leverage, and Bruce let go of one leg to fumble for more lube.

John slung his free arm around Bruce's neck and did his best to keep his leg hitched on Bruce's hip. "It's fine, it's fine," he breathed. "Just..."

Bruce managed to scrape up more jelly, tipping the jar onto the floor, and he smeared it over his dick. "Just like this?" he grunted, hoisting John higher and guiding himself into place.

He shoved home, slick hand clapping back under John's thigh, and John threw his head back into a cardboard box as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Bruce paused long enough to groan against John's collarbone before he started thrusting, shallow and hard. The shelf clanged into the wall, the box mussing John's gelled hair.

"Are you happy?" Bruce snarled. "You got my... fucking... attention."

Every thrust pushed a happy whine from John's slack mouth, an enthusiasm that Bruce hadn't heard in too long, and that realization twisted into his gut. He bit sharply around John's clavicle, pressing his teeth firmly against the bone. John clenched around him with a yelp, and Bruce moaned, digging his nails in.

"Answer me," he demanded against the red crescents on John's chest.

"I missed you," John mewled. "So much."

"You want more?"

"Please please _please_ …"

"You think you deserve it?"

"Yes," John panted. "I was bad. Teach me a lesson."

Bruce bent his knees to pull out further, drive in harder. The burn in his thighs was nothing compared to the heat engulfing his cock, and he didn't know how he'd denied himself this, denied John. Tomorrow John would pore over the bruises, seeing each as a reminder that he'd get fucked just the way he wanted by Bruce, not by...

"This isn't the lesson you need," Bruce grunted, "after that son of a bitch…"

"He's nothing." John's legs pulled tighter around Bruce's waist. "I'd never…"

Bruce wanted to believe that, but that image flashed in his mind, of Luthor's fingers curling over John's knee and John just sitting there. How easily John could have let Lex's hand slide up his thigh, underneath his skirt to sneak under silk, and Bruce bit John's throat now, just under his jaw. He hooked his hand under that knee and pushed John's leg open, bucking harder.

"Maybe I should stop right now," Bruce snarled, lifting his head. "Make you suck me off."

"Don't stop," John whimpered. His dick left a growing wet spot on his bunched skirt.

"Why?"

"So good..."

John let go of Bruce's shoulder to touch himself, but Bruce snapped, "Leave it."

With a hint of a smile, John did as he was told. He let go of the shelf and braced both arms around Bruce's neck.

"No one else," Bruce panted, "should lay a finger on you."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Don't even talk to him."

John's eyes flashed at that. "I can't promise."

"This isn't a game."

John's smile only grew, because Bruce meant it; he loved John and Luthor was lucky he'd only gotten drenched. But now John knew another way to get under Bruce's skin. He leaned in with heated eyes just short of another kiss.

"Prove why you're all I need, baby," he moaned. "Show me."

Bruce felt almost delirious, breathing in the intoxicating smell of their sweat. In the months after John moved in, they'd fucked like this, frantic and rough. Bruce prided himself on the control he'd honed over the years, including conducting himself responsibly on Arkham visits, but as soon as that scrutiny was gone, a switch flipped. He'd wanted to indulge in every drawn-out fantasy and passing dirty thought, and John had no objections, of course. He was at his happiest when Bruce accosted him out of the blue, bending him over the railing in the front hall or hoisting him onto the kitchen counter.

The reverberations finally knocked a box off the top shelf, sending round canisters rolling around Bruce's feet. He ignored the clatter as he pistoned in and out, focusing on the friction and the purple smears on John's face.

John wasn't smiling now, and his brows knitted together. "So close," he whined, echoing Bruce's thoughts.

The urge to punish had floated away, replaced by the image of John sitting at the vanity, looking at Bruce's outstretched hand like he no longer believed Bruce wanted him there.

"Come for me," Bruce urged.

John tightened one arm around Bruce's neck as he grabbed his dick. Bruce watched the swollen pink head pop in and out of John's fist, leaking pre-cum on his manicure.

"I'll give you what you need," Bruce said breathlessly.

John nodded, biting his bottom lip.

"Just me."

"Just you," John whimpered, pumping faster.

"And if I catch him again," Bruce growled, "I'll break his fucking hand."

John came with a strangled cry, spurting onto his fist and dress. He kept stroking himself as Bruce pounded his spasming insides, driving toward his own climax. John felt so tight and good, but it was his pleased little pants and groans in the aftershocks that pushed Bruce over the edge. The smooth pace of his thrusts faltered, but he pushed in deep to the very last.

"That's it," John sighed, letting go of himself to grab Bruce's shoulder. "Make your claim."

When he was spent, Bruce pulled John's right leg back in, still wanting to feel those pale legs around his waist. John trembled, and Bruce kept him up against the shelving and sucked at the skin under his ear, breathing in more of his scent. He couldn't help but roll his hips one last time to feel John around his softening length.

"Feel better?" John chuckled as he tipped Bruce's head to the side.

Bruce put his answer in the kiss. It was too much to say out loud that John never felt better than when he made Bruce lose control.

* * *

John let his tongue linger in Bruce's mouth. Here was his crème brûlée, after months of pudding cups– not to knock pudding. Sometimes it hit the spot, but other times...

He needed Bruce's dick to hit the spot. Metaphors, bah.

Bruce had clearly missed this, too. After their glorious finish, he was still loath to separate, keeping one hand under John's ass while the other coasted up and down his thigh. He certainly didn't have any thoughts to spare for some maybe-alien now, heh. It was hard for John to see the downside of his crude tactics.

It was easy to see the downside of sex in a closet when the door opened.

An unamused Mercy and a stunned security guard stood in the doorway. Bruce and John stared back, frozen in their compromising position for a couple seconds.

Then John barked out a laugh and flipped his hanging skirt over his lap. Bruce couldn't do much of anything without risking a more blatant indecent exposure, though the guard had already turned away. Mercy kept her eyes on their faces.

"We'll be escorting you off the premises," she said coldly. "I'll give you two minutes."

She closed the door before they could respond, though all John could muster was a giggle.

Then an "ah" when Bruce finally pulled out and set him on his feet. John held onto the shelf for a few moments to be sure he could stand, and he slowly stretched out his back and neck, feeling the aches where the metal had dug in. Oh, he'd have a lovely morning, admiring bruises in the bathroom mirror. Bruce was more focused on cleaning up with a handful of cocktail napkins from a basket– not that they could do much about the blatant stains on the front of John's dress.

Bruce shrugged off his jacket. His mouth was stained with John's lipstick. "Put this on."

John expectantly held his arms out to his sides. "You don't want everyone to see how you put me in my place?" he asked coyly as Bruce put the coat on him.

"I think they could hear it, but I don't care." Bruce fastened the buttons, then cupped John's face and looked him in the eyes. "So long as you know your place."

John's heart fluttered even as Bruce pulled away, and he held out his arms to enjoy how the jacket sleeves were a little too long. He felt cozy warm, too; the fabric had captured all the heat Bruce generated.

Bruce kicked aside a couple of canisters– powdered cleaner– and retrieved John's underwear from the floor. John reached out to take them with a quip– more like under _where_ – but Bruce was clearly thinking under _why_ as he tucked the silk into his pocket, which sent John into a giggling fit. He pressed to his darling's side, and Bruce held him close as he opened the door.

Now two awkward guards flanked Mercy in the hallway. Arms crossed, she glared at Bruce.

"I guess you're satisfied," she said tonelessly.

"You don't appreciate me taking responsibility?" Bruce replied.

John didn't know what that meant, and Mercy looked unimpressed. She gestured to the cocktail room door, and one of the guards opened it.

"Out."

She could be a good sport and send them through a back way, but she wanted them to do the whole walk of shame. Well, the joke was on her! Back home, a restaurant and a boutique had tried the same move, and the spectacle only fueled the scandalous reputation Bruce used as a cover.

A dozen people conspicuously occupied the cocktail room now, with many more lingering by the dining room doors. Several typed away on their phones, and some not-so-subtly filmed the Gotham pair as they were escorted into the hotel lobby. John thought he recognized a couple columnists. He held his head high so no one would miss his streaked makeup, and he shifted the jacket to show off the blooming bite on his collarbone. The back of his head was a mess for sure, and Bruce hadn't touched his own mussed hair.

Lexy would see a heckuva story about this party. How disappointing that he was nowhere in sight. Had an impromptu bath really been enough to make him retreat? At the very least, he should send John and Bruce off with some scathing words.

Apparently he wouldn't. The only people outside the hotel were more guards corralling paparazzi away from the Centennial's entrance. The limo was waiting at the curb, and the driver already had the door open.

"Thanks for calling our ride!" John said to Mercy with a little wave.

Standing at the hotel doors, she did not respond.

John got in the limo first and noticed a couple photographers across the way kneeling with their lenses between the bars of a metal barrier. Upskirt shots?! He laughed. If only the dress cut higher up his leg to give him the option. Imagine how riled Brucie would get then!

Bruce got in after John, and the driver shut the door. Now behind the blackened windows, and with the privacy screen up, Bruce sighed, shoulders slumping.

"You just have to push my buttons," he grumbled.

John tweaked Bruce's bowtie. "You shouldn't make the jealousy button so shiny."

Bruce was about to reply when a ringing came through the speakers, just as the limo pulled into the street. His phone was hooked into the bluetooth system, so he hit a button on a panel over their heads.

"Yes?" he sighed.

"Of the two of us," Lex said coolly, yanking Bruce's posture ramrod straight, "I should sound more aggrieved."

John gave Bruce his widest smile and let out a too-excited gasp.

Bruce shot him a glare. "Before you say anything, Lex, let me apologize. I had a bit to drink tonight, and I can be a little… protective."

John pressed his mouth into Bruce's shoulder and looked at him with twinkling eyes. Of course Bruce was starting to feel regrets. He always wanted to hold himself to a high standard even if his opponent had no scruples to speak of. John loved him and his silliness so much.

"From what I heard, you got more than protective," Lex replied dryly. "Still, I appreciate the apology, and I do hope you and John can accept mine."

Bruce looked confused, and John's interest was piqued. This conversation was going a little too easy-breezy.

"Are you there, John?" Lex asked.

Bruce's jaw tensed.

"Right here, Lexy!" John answered, unable to resist adding some flirty flair. "So glad to hear from you, after we ended the party with a splash. Ha! I do wish we could've had a proper goodbye."

"I was keen on getting into some dry clothes up in my room," Lex chuckled. "But again, I'm sorry for any discomfort. I'm still a bit of a rake like Bruce used to be, until you came into his life. You may be a magnet for men like us."

Lex was still in the game, John realized with glee, and boy would he play to his own ends.

"Oh, of course we appreciate your consideration," John replied sweetly, "but like water, a little friendliness is ultimately harmless, right?"

"I'm glad we're on the same page, especially since I'm still very interested in supporting your work. When you get back to it, get in touch with me."

"We'll be sure to give Mercy a call," Bruce broke in curtly, "and arrange a meeting whenever we can make it back."

"How exciting!" John exclaimed. "Another bigshot in my network. You know, I've been thinking of starting commissions, so if you're interested in another piece from me…" 

It was simply delightful, the way Bruce's eyes narrowed as he realized Lex had been a buyer at John's first show.

Lex hummed. "I have some ideas of what I'd like to see you do."

"We'll follow up with you, Luthor," Bruce said abruptly, reaching up to the speaker controls. "Good night." He pressed the button before another syllable got through.

John flopped back in his seat, clasping his hands against his chest and kicking out one leg. "A real admirer! Do you think he'll build me my own robot?" 

Bruce stared grouchily at nothing.

"Aw," John cooed, leaning against him, "Luthor's got an appeal, but a corrupt crook will never beat the Batman."

"I know," Bruce said unconvincingly.

He'd been so much more assured after fucking John silly. Maybe he needed more inspiration!

"In fact," John idly added, "I bet if I came back to Metropolis myself, I could handle Lexy all by my lonesome."

Bruce stayed quiet, his hand curling around John's knee. His other hand fiddled in his pocket, producing a flash of shiny lavender.

Finally he said, voice a low rumble, "When we get back in the suite, I think you need another talking-to."

John could hardly wait.  
  
  



End file.
